


A Spoonful of Comfort

by PurpleFluffyCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Comfort, Comfort Food, Food Kink, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Slash, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 13:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16064276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/pseuds/PurpleFluffyCat
Summary: For Albus, there was no greater escapism than this: being coddled; being fed so completely his aching tummy wouldn't let him move even if he had to; being tied down as if there was nothing he could do but submit to someone else's plan. As if he didn't have to get up the next morning again, and try to save the world.





	A Spoonful of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the Insanejournal community 'daily_deviant' themes: 'food smut (overeating kink)'; and '(light) bondage'.

Albus swiped the last of the cake crumbs from his plate, and sat back in his chair. "That was _delicious_ my friend. I couldn't eat another bite." 

Now that Horace had returned to teach, he had also taken to inviting Albus round to dinner in his rooms, again. It was enchanting; if Albus squinted, he could almost imagine it was twenty years ago - when there were fewer grey hairs and eyes less tired, but a different war loomed around every corner. _How history cycled its course._

"Thank you," preened Horace. "The chocolate cake is my own special recipe, you know."

"I would have guessed so, indeed."

_Oh, how it sounded familiar._ The dialogue; both of them. A blissful echo of their pantomime, years past. Albus felt both suddenly nostalgic and acutely aware that if there were ever a time that he ached in need of comfort, it was now. Now, when the end-game was upon him; now, when he had set-up and gambled all he could, and it still might not be enough. 

He looked at Horace - resplendent there in his plush rooms and largesse - and wondered whether... if there was any chance that... 

Albus shivered at the thought. His blood pricked in that distant-familiar way, and the yearning in his heart surfaced in hope. He could but ask.

Albus moved his gaze from the flit of general conversation to lock with Horace's in a way that he hoped communicated everything he was thinking; it _had_ been a long time. "Is there any more?"

A beat passed while meaning filtered between them. Then, Horace's eyes widened. "Oho! Do you mean... like we used to?"

Albus gave his most elegant shrug. "Only if you would like to, of course." He glanced away. "I realise I'm not much to look at, these days."

"Pfft." Horace waved that aside with an airy gesture. "And I never was." He raked his eyes across Albus' form - reclining there, with hands contentedly resting on his velvet-clad middle. Horace licked his lips. "Gods, I would _love_ to."

A grin blossomed on both their faces, and they levered themselves up from the table; there was no need for further words. Horace led the way to his bedchamber - bedecked in burgundy silks, emerald eiderdowns and the thickest of Persian rugs, it was as opulent a room as Albus had ever seen. From Horace, he would have expected nothing less. "Professor Merrythought's old quarters scrub up quite well, then," he twinkled.

"I'm glad you approve." Horace smiled back - but now there was a proprietorial glimmer in those gooseberry eyes, which caught Albus' breath. "Now, my sweet, to make you comfortable..."

With a few well-practised charms, Horace rearranged the bedding such that the pillows and duvets formed a veritable nest atop the magnificent bed. Then he turned to Albus, and began to undress him, like a doll.

Horace's thick fingers could be amazingly delicate. He slipped each of Albus' tiny buttons from their holes and smoothed layer upon layer of formal robes from his shoulders. He took care never to pull or snag, and gave Albus a robust arm to steady him when stepping out of his undone breeches.

The peace that was settling in Albus' mind told him that it was already working. This had always been his greatest treat, his greatest escape; he felt so pleased and lucky to have the chance of a taste of it, again - when he needed succour from the worries in his mind more than he could remember.

When Albus was wearing just his underwear, Horace made the lightest of touches - appraising, claiming: a fingertip along Albus' collarbone; a palm across his chest; a tantalising sweep down his full belly. Every hair on Albus' body stood on end, despite the cosy warmth.

Horace grinned, and then - with surprising strength - scooped Albus up into his arms, and laid him out on the bed. Albus felt himself sink into the covers; it was the most sumptuously comfortable moment. Everything was arranged _just so_ for him to be perfectly cradled - his bones cushioned, his middle entirely free. There was just _one_ thing missing... 

Albus stretched out his arms above his head, and gazed imploringly.

" _Ohhh,_ " breathed Horace, and suddenly looked as if the room was altogether too hot. With a wandless charm, he Banished his own outer robe. "Of course." 

Horace conjured some pieces of silk, and tied them around Albus' wrists with utmost care. He hesitated by Albus' damaged hand, but Albus gave a theatrical little mewl to reassure him; to not break the moment. The other ends of the silk tied themselves to the bedposts. Albus pulled gently against the restraints, and delighted in the illusion of being trapped, there.

"Are you alright?" asked Horace, nervous not to cause any hurt.

Albus nodded, and then smiled - as coquettishly as he could manage. "But I _am_ rather hungry."

Horace looked at him then with an even _greater_ hunger. "Then let me sate your appetite, my dear." He Summoned a platter upon which sat the rest of the chocolate cake they had enjoyed for pudding.

Albus' eyes bulged a little; there really was a large amount, there. "I doubt I'll be able to manage as much as I used to..."

Horace grinned, and then ran a fingertip down Albus' exposed tummy. "Let's see about that, shall we? Open wide."

Albus did as he was told with great pleasure. Horace delivered a spoonful of gooey, sticky cake, careful not to make a mess. He allowed Albus plenty of time to chew and swallow before following it with the next, and the next, and the next.

Albus lapped it all up with abandon, surrendering once more to their sweet fantasy coming true. What he craved most was simply the feeling of being _looked after_. Being fed like this - suckling at the chocolatey spoon while gentle murmurings were whispered in his ears - was care and attention in the most primal form.

He delighted in the feeling of his stomach expanding with each bite, becoming taut and stuffed full - uncomfortably so, even. It was a blessing to be overfed - for excess was a sign of pride, of plenty, of _peacetime_. The ancients had known it, and Albus felt that siren song in his soul - unearthed now, after years of silence, and singing all the more insistently for it.

"That's it. Keep going, my dear. Look: you're doing ever so well." From his perch on the side of the bed, Horace was flushed with pride; he had been feeding Albus meticulously, with perfect heaped spoonfuls at a pretty pace.

Two thirds of the large cake had now gone. Albus opened his mouth again: greedy; pliant; supplicant. He pulled at the bindings once more, reassured they were fast - and felt a wave of contentment wash through him.

For Albus, there was no greater escapism than this: being coddled; being fed so completely his aching tummy wouldn't let him move even if he had to; being tied down as if there was nothing he could do but submit to someone else's plan. As if he didn't have to get up the next morning again, and try to save the world. 

"Marvellous job, marvellous job. Can you manage a little more for me, my lovely? Just a little more..."

Albus' eyes slid closed as his lips opened yet again. He was reaching capacity now, his pace slowing - but he wanted to keep eating, to feel as intensely as he could, to prolong the moment...

Horace, bless his heart, understood it as no one else did. He could sense Albus' need not to be responsible for everything, all of the time. Strictly in playtime, he was happy to take a turn; to take charge.

And there was perhaps a need there, too. For all his connections, Horace craved the feeling of being truly significant to someone - dabbling in the idea of being front-seat driver, for once. Behind the calculating exterior, he had a great capacity for love and care. It needed an outlet - and for Horace, it seemed, there was no greater analogy than providing enormous amounts of home-made chocolate cake. It was love and care in tangible form, which he carefully spooned into Albus' waiting lips, cooing as Albus' swollen tummy pushed upward from the duvet nest - a clear sign of the affection he had lavished. "Quite a little chocolate pot you have there, now, Darling. You look so charming. You've become all round and tight for me; what a delight. There's just a little more here to go..."

Another spoonful sped through the air, but Albus shook his head, feeling defeated.

"Awww." Horace pouted theatrically. "It's my _best_ recipe, you know, sweetheart. Finish it up. For me? Pleeease."

Albus smiled, delighting in the encouragement. Horace was wonderful at it, and overeating like this was _such_ a guilty pleasure; he had almost forgotten the rush of endorphins, making all of his skin tingle and his blood heat, even as he lay there, pinned to the mattress by the silken ropes and his own glutted belly. _Especially_ as he lay there, trapped thus, he thought - and with that, Albus opened his mouth once more, and let the last of the massive chocolate cake settle inside him. Somewhere in his mind that was not awash with pleasure, he boggled at the fact that he had indeed now eaten the whole thing.

"Oho! Well done, my dear, well done! Now, if only I had seconds..."

Albus groaned, even though he realised Horace was only teasing. "I don't think..." The pressure in his stomach was teetering from uncomfortable to painful, now.

"-Of course, my treasure," shushed Horace, instinctively understanding Albus' need. "Let me help you." 

Horace spread his warm palms across Albus' straining belly. It felt wonderful; Albus arched his back to push up into the touch. Horace began to massage - gently at first, not pushing too hard - rubbing small circles to ease the pressure. His caresses then built into larger, sweeping motions, ticking and tantalising anywhere and everywhere.

The feeling was electric; there was the simple thrill of skin-on-skin, when Albus was sensitised so - but also that coded communication of what they were _doing_ together. As Horace cupped and outlined Albus' distended middle, it was a reminder of just how much he had overeaten; how much he had been cosseted and cared for; how the world might really be a safe place, after all.

"How's that, my precious? Feeling better?"

"Mmm," nodded Albus, eyes still dreamy-closed.

Horace's touch was magic - though whether that was figurative or literal, Albus wasn't quite sure. He still felt tremendously full and constrained, but the pain had left - all the better to appreciate where Horace's hands were going, next. They strayed across the planes of his chest, grazing over his erect nipples; they traced the sinews of his arms, stretched upwards into their silken bonds; they whispered across the delicate skin of his sides.

Albus felt like he was floating on a cloud. His brain was washed with sugar, and his body felt so perfectly stuffed, sated, replete - and now deliciously caressed - he was hungry for only one more thing.

Albus hadn't realised exactly _how_ hungry he was, until Horace granted one of those feather-light touches to the tent in his underwear. "Aaagh!" Suddenly, every nerve was on fire, and he needed firmer touches, hotter touches, there and _everywhere._ "More..." Albus breathed, bucking upward into the empty air. "Please..."

Horace chuckled. "We still _have it_ , then."

"Yessss," hissed Albus, filled with impatience." _Please..._ "

Horace Vanished the little Albus' was still wearing, and Albus instinctively widened his legs, tipping up his hips for Horace... Horace, who was breathing raggedly now, one hand still gentling Albus' swollen belly, but the other one slipping lower, teasing his balls with ghosting fingers. "Gods, you are _beautiful_ , like this. D'you know that?"

Albus would have preened - if he hadn't been so desperate to be filled in a different way. "Take me, then," he breathed. He squirmed some more, pressing up into Horace's grasp; wanting to be utterly stuffed, completely bound. Wanting oblivion.

Horace didn't need to be asked twice. He tucked a pillow beneath Albus' hips, and cast all of the usual charms. Albus rolled his knees toward his chest, exposing himself entirely; begging Horace with his posture.

Warm hands smoothed across Albus' arse, together with a throaty hum of appreciation. "Ravishing..." Horace then teased him with a slickened fat fingertip. It made Albus cry out; he tried to push himself down the bed for greater connection, but the bindings at his wrists stopped him from doing so. Horace chuckled. "You have to be patient, my sweet."

Albus groaned and stilled - but was then rewarded with all of Horace's plump finger. His eyes drifted shut again as Horace began to pulse in and out. He felt the delicious stretch as a second finger was added - _gods, it had been a long time_ \- and then began to see stars as Horace found that sweet spot inside him. He squealed and whimpered, and pulled him knees further up toward his aching belly to encourage Horace even more.

Luckily, it worked. After a few more moments of manual bliss, Albus heard a rustling of garments, and then felt Horace's perfect, thick cock at his entrance. "Oh-hh-hh," Albus sobbed, "I _need_ you..."

He cried in delight as he was finally filled with it: with Horace's powerful, smooth thrusts; his sweat; his groans; his understanding. It was intensely, superbly perfect.

Horace hammered into him with abandon, gripping Albus' taut stomach as he did so. Albus' cock felt just as engorged as his gut, pushing him closer and closer to that shimmering edge with every thrust...

Just as Albus felt he couldn't be stuffed any more, Horace pushed into him one more time and stilled, flooding Albus with his hot seed. Moments later, Albus shot his own all across his belly and Horace's hands, shouting and gasping. Nothing felt more like coming home.

They stayed like that for some moments - gulping for air, euphoric and sticky. Slowly, Horace untangled. He cast a few clean-up charms, and with the greatest of care untied the silken bonds at Albus' wrists, rubbing and gentling as he set them free. 

Gingerly, Albus rolled onto his side. Horace laid down next to him amid the pillows and eiderdowns, and their gazes found one another's. "Thank you for... cherishing me."

"Oh, but I do, my friend. I _do._ " The warmth that flooded Horace's eyes then was nothing of a game. Horace leaned across to press a chaste kiss to Albus' lips. "Would you like... to stay here, tonight?"

It was more than Albus had thought he could allow himself, but it was so very tempting. "If I may," he said, quietly.

In answer, Horace simply gathered Albus into his soft embrace. "You're safe with me."


End file.
